By the time we finished with Tim, it was after midnight, much too late to try to check his alibi. We headed back to the station.
My mom and Mark were waiting in Chief McTavish’s office with take-out from one of the local fast food places.
My mom gave one of the bags the same look she might have given a pair of dirty shoes on her table. “It was the only place open.”
Elise and I pulled two more chairs up to the desk, and Mark handed out the meals. My mom had gotten a wrap, the healthiest thing at the table when compared to my chicken fingers and Elise’s cheeseburger.
Mark goofily walked his fingers across the corner of the desk and snagged a fry from my meal.
Elise swallowed down an unladylike-sized bite of burger. “He’s lucky you’re here, Nik. I’d never let him pick from mine.”
I froze with my chicken finger halfway into the barbeque sauce. That was what had been bothering me. People had to have a certain level of intimacy before stealing from someone else’s meal. In fact, the only people I’d ever seen do it were couples in a romantic relationship.
But the other day, at The Burnt Toast, Tim’s male companion stole a French toast stick from his plate and gave him what now, in hindsight, could have been a flirty smile.
If I was right, if Tim was gay, he was also lying about his alibi for the night Bruce Vilsack died.
13
“Are you sure about this?” Elise whispered as she knocked on the duplex door that matched the address Tim gave us for his alibi. It was still early in the morning. Despite our late night, we’d agreed we needed to reach her before too much time had passed.
I couldn’t be sure about Tim’s sexuality unless he admitted it to us, but the hints were there. “About sixty percent.”
“Sixty percent.” Her words ended in a hiss. “That’s not much better than chance.”
The door opened. The woman on the other side was close to Tim’s age. She wore her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, heavy eye makeup, and almost nothing on the rest of her face. It made her look a bit like a raccoon. Based on her black pants and the logo on her shirt, she’d been getting ready for work before we knocked.
The woman’s gaze flickered over Elise’s uniform, and she braced a hand on the door frame. “What’s going on?”
“Leslie Bell?” Elise asked.
The woman nodded.
“We won’t keep you long, but we need to ask you a couple questions.”
When I first met Elise, her interview skills sounded like they came from an 80s TV cop sitcom. Now she even knew not to give away what our questions would be about. Hopefully she realized how far she’d come.
Leslie showed us in to her kitchen/living room. The smells of coffee and hairspray hung in the air.
She wrapped her hands around the mug on the counter. She didn’t offer us any, but to her credit, she also didn’t insist she didn’t have much time to give us. It made me think Tim had listened to our warning and hadn’t contacted her. She wasn’t nervous enough for someone who knew they might have to give an alibi for a murder.
Elise brought out her notebook. “Do you remember where you were a week ago Thursday night?”
“I was probably here.” Leslie turned her cup around in her hands. “Thursdays are work nights.”
Probably—she didn’t want to commit to an answer. She was trying to wait us out. “Were you alone?” I asked.
The look Leslie gave me was the opposite of friendly. “I don’t see how that’s anyone’s business but my own. What’s this about?”
There it was. She knew she didn’t have to answer our questions. We’d have to play it out and hope she’d be honest. Or that we could catch her in her lie. “We’re trying to establish where Tim O’Brien was on that night. He claims he was with you from the middle of the afternoon until Friday morning.”
Elise shot me a what are you doing?! look.
Leslie sipped her coffee without missing a beat. “Yeah, Tim was with me.”
All my instincts, honed from sitting in on my parents’ meetings with clients and interviews with witnesses and court cases, screamed at me that she was lying. Her answer was too practiced and casual, like she was used to giving it. She likely wasn’t used to defending it, though.
And she hadn’t noticed the flaw in her story. “You weren’t entirely sure you were here, but you’re sure about being with Tim?”
“I told you I was here.”
“No,” Elise chimed in. “You said you were probably here.”
Leslie’s coffee cup hit the counter hard. “I was here. With Tim. Exactly like he said.”
The flaw in her story drew me in. For all the times I’d heard lawyers described as sharks, I hadn’t understood it until now. I smelled the blood in the water.
“That’s interesting.” I tilted my head like I was examining her closely and wasn’t sure what to make of her. “Because you said you were here because Thursday’s a work night. That made it sound like you wanted to turn in early and get a good night’s sleep.”
I knew I should press it even further, but I couldn’t bring myself to make the statement that Tim had implied there wasn’t much sleeping going on. Just thinking it made me feel crass and dirty. My parents wouldn’t have shown the same mercy. Shark might have been stretching it in describing myself. I was more like an eel. Or maybe one of those poisonous corals.
Leslie had her mug back in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the top of the handle. “What I meant was there’s no drinking involved with staying in. My job’s too noisy for a hangover.”
That was a good cover, but she’d still missed one part. One that we could check with her boss. I just needed to confirm that I wasn’t making an unfounded assumption.
I focused on relaxing my body posture. Shoulders down, casual stance—like I believed her. “Fair enough.” I mimed writing to Elise for show. “So we can get it right in our notes, you worked on Thursday and Friday from what times?”
“My shift’s nine to five.” She still had a wary tone to her voice, but she’d stopped rubbing the cup handle.
